This was directed in a plain, clear hand--so plain that the farmer could easily read it from where he stood. It bore the name of Luke Ross, and she had prepared the envelope before writing her letter, for upon the sheet of paper was the date, and then came the three words, "My dear Luke." That was all, and the marks that followed upon the paper were made by tears. "It is like living a lie," he heard her say, with a passionate sigh; and then she started up, for she became aware of her uncle's presence in the room. "Why, Sage, lass," he said, gently, "do you always cry over your letters to Luke Ross?" She looked piteously in his face, but said no word. "Is it because he is so long away, my lass? Well, well, we shall have him back these holidays, and it won't be long." He was watching her intently as he spoke, and he saw that not only did she turn pale, but a spasm as of pain crossed her face. "Thou dost not look well, my pet," he said, gently. "There, there, put the writing away, and come and sit by me while I have my pipe. I don't like my little one to be so dull. Why, Sage, what's come of all the songs? You used to be always singing and making the house cheery. I'm thinking you work too hard." "Oh, no, no, uncle," she cried, forcing a smile. "Then you think too much, child. You must have more change. Parson didn't come in here, did he, my lass?" "No, uncle," she said, starting. "No, I thought he wouldn't; but he came to meet me, and he brought a message for thee, my girl." "For me, uncle?" she cried, crimsoning to the parting of her hair. "Ay, he did. He says he has to be out a deal, and Mrs Mallow finds it lonesome at times without her girls; and he said, as a favour, would you mind going up and seeing her, and sitting with her and reading a bit?" "Oh, no, uncle," faltered Sage, crimsoning more deeply, every trace of emotion being duly noted by him who was probing her to the quick. "But would Mrs Mallow--?" She paused without finishing her sentence. "Like it?" he said, finishing the sentence for her. "To be sure she would, my pet. What a one I am to deliver a message. It was her who asked the Rector to bid you come; and, as I thought you wouldn't mind, I just said that you would go." "Oh, uncle, but I--I dare not," cried Sage, excitedly. "Stuff! Tchah! Nonsense, my dear. What's to be afraid of! They're gentlepeople, I s'pose, but they're only human beings after all, and you've nothing to be ashamed of, I'm sure. I told parson you'd go on this afternoon, as there was no school, and he said I was not to be uneasy, for some one should see you home." Sage's colour came and went as she sat there trembling, and painfully conscious. Some one should see her home--some one should see her home. The words kept repeating themselves in her ears till she felt giddy. What did it all mean? Why did her uncle speak to her in this gentle way? What more had passed between him and the Rector?